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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783200">Solavellan Prompts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/luzial/pseuds/luzial'>luzial</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, DA Drunk Writing Circle, F/M, Fluff, Tumblr Prompts, one shots</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:42:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/luzial/pseuds/luzial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One shots from Tumblr prompts for the <a href="https://dadrunkwriting.tumblr.com/">Friday Night Drunk Writing Circle</a>.  In order of prompts received, not chronological to the story. Ratings will be noted at the start of each chapter. If you want to request something, here's my current <a href="https://luzial.tumblr.com/prompts">prompt list</a>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Lavellan/Solas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Who did this to you?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Rating: G</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/">@thevikingwoman</a>:  “Who did this to you?”</p><p>I had a couple ideas but settled on doing this as a friend-ship between Cassandra and Solas. This would be immediately after Crestwood (which, like, man I told myself I was going to just write something happy for my first night of DWC - oops).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Who did this to you?”</p>
<p>Cassandra felt a swell of rage bubble up from her chest as she asked, and realized all too late that her words had come out as a threatening growl rather than whatever comforting note she’d had in mind.</p>
<p>Solas blinked a few times and stared up at her from where he had been bent over his books and notes. She squinted at him and saw a redness in his face she wasn’t used to and a glassiness to his eyes that didn’t look quite right. And that parchment he was looking at - large, black dots of ink smeared the page in a way that he couldn’t possibly approve of. </p>
<p>“Who was it?” Cassandra asked again and - to her relief - in a relatively even and normal tone.</p>
<p>“Pardon me, Seeker?”</p>
<p>“Something is wrong,” she said. Solas sounded perfectly himself, but she’d known him long enough now to see that he was far better at hiding whatever he was feeling than she was. “I heard - well, I thought I heard -”</p>
<p>The next part was a bit delicate and delicacy was not her specialty. What she heard, and she was quite certain she <em> had </em> heard it, was someone crying. It wasn’t loud or particularly dramatic-sounding, but there were the tell-tale sniffles followed by an occasional low gasp for breath. She knew what crying sounded like, and she didn’t like when people felt the need to do it on her watch.</p>
<p>“Look, Solas, it’s simple. I just need to know what happened and who did it, and I will <em> take care of it</em>,” she said. “I will not have anyone in this fortress being intimidated because of who they are. Whatever I might have thought of you when we first met, you are under <em> my </em> protection now, and the protection of the Inquisition. I will suffer no one harassing you because you are a mage and an apostate.</p>
<p>“So, as I said, it is simple. Tell me who did this to you.”</p>
<p>Solas frowned at her and shook his head. </p>
<p>“While I appreciate the show of loyalty, Seeker, no one under your command has said anything of the kind to me. They have all been perfectly respectful and very helpful.”</p>
<p>“Then why were you crying?” </p>
<p>She really didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation but, <em> Maker</em>, she was bad at this sort of thing. Where was that odd little demon when you needed him?</p>
<p>“Crying?” Solas scoffed, but she saw the way that doing so gave him time to lean back in his chair, his face turned away from her for a moment.</p>
<p>“Seeker, it is late.” </p>
<p><em> True enough,</em> Cassandra thought. </p>
<p>“And I am tired.” </p>
<p>
  <em> You look it. </em>
</p>
<p>“And I am reading a particularly verbose tome which has been written in especially minuscule Orlesian script. My eyes are not the eyes of a young man anymore. I suppose I should retire for the evening and stop torturing myself.”</p>
<p><em> Torturing yourself</em>. There was something in his tone that made her think it was the truest part of what he had said, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.</p>
<p>“But you will tell me if - if you need anything from me,” she said, realizing that it somehow came out sounding like a command.</p>
<p>“If someone hurts me, Seeker, you shall be the first to hear of it.” Solas leaned back over his notes again, and she had the clear sense that she was being dismissed. She didn’t especially care for it, but she could respect it. She likely would have done the same thing in his position.</p>
<p>“If I am the cause of my own pain, however,” Solas muttered into the book beneath his nose, “I do hope you will trust me to sort that out on my own.”</p>
<p>Cassandra had no idea what he was referring to, but she could hear that he was frustrated with himself. And that she did understand.</p>
<p>“Very well, Solas,” she said with a nod that they could both understand was the end of it. “I will leave you to your work.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Seeker.”</p>
<p>She heard the scratch of his pen upon the parchment as she left the rotunda. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. You can’t keep doing this.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: G</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/">@thevikingwoman</a>: “You can’t keep doing this" and Fever</p><p>Pre-relationship Solavellan in the Fallow Mire.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You can’t keep doing this, Solas.” The Inquisitor pressed the back of her hand against his forehead and her frown deepened. </p><p>“I am not so fragile as you may think,” Solas told her. Though, from where he lay on a slightly damp bedroll within a very damp tent, he was feeling a good deal more fragile than he had in a very long time. Her hand was a shock of cold against his skin, and that worried him more than he wished to tell her.</p><p>“Be that as it may,” Lavellan said, removing her hand and turning back to the collection of bottles she’d retrieved from outside the tent, <em> “You </em> are the closest thing we have to a healer when we’re away from Skyhold. You must take care of yourself, if for no other reason than you are the person best suited to take care of the rest of us.”</p><p>An odd situation in which to find himself, Solas considered, and an insightful appeal. He had wondered how leadership would suit her and, in truth, found in himself surprising measures of pity and concern as he’d watched her thrust into one situation after another that plainly made her uncomfortable. He had watched her press back against the expectations of the humans and their Chantry, but he also had a sense that she was carefully choosing her battles. And now, she’d turned that same shrewdness on him, appealing to his apparent desire to help the Inquisition - regardless of any personal cost.  </p><p>It was a strategy that could easily have worked, if his motives were as simple as he had asked her to believe. </p><p>“Now tell me again what I’m supposed to mix together. And say it a little slower this time,” the Inquisitor asked.</p><p>He did as she requested, trying to keep his eyes on the bottles in her hands. But his eyelids were heavy and the drip of the rain on the tent was soothing.</p><p>“Solas.”</p><p>He opened his eyes to find her kneeling next to him, a small vial in one hand.</p><p>“Don’t fall asleep yet,” she said. “You need to take this.” She placed a hand on the back of his head and helped him sit up slightly, then held the vial to his lips as he drank.</p><p>“And you’re <em> certain </em> it’s not the plague that affected the village here?” she asked. “Fever was one of the symptoms.”</p><p>“Fever was a symptom on the second day, preceded by pallor and a cough,” Solas reminded her. “I had no symptoms before this.” </p><p>“If you’re sure.” </p><p>Her brow was furrowed and her mouth still downturned as it had been since he first confessed the severity of his symptoms earlier that evening. </p><p>“Do not worry yourself, Inquisitor.” Solas said, knowing she must be irritated by the delay. “I shall be back on my feet and able to resume my duties by tomorrow. We shall lose no additional time searching for the soldiers who went missing here.” </p><p>“Take as much time as you need,” she said, shaking her head. “I can send the others ahead if necessary. I want you well again.” </p><p>Gently, she helped him lay back. After wrapping another blanket around him she began to speak softly.</p><p>“I know you were not part of a clan, but perhaps you can understand this: when my people mourn someone, it is not the loss of an extra pair of hands that troubles us. It is the loss of a unique viewpoint, a unique spirit. <em> That </em> is what I value in you, much more than your skills as a healer.” </p><p>Solas found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps the fever and exhaustion were to blame, he told himself. Perhaps that was all it was. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. You’re almost there. Keep going.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: G</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry">@ContreParry</a>: "You’re almost there. Keep going." and Quiet Campsite.</p><p>Decided to combine this with some requests I got for more post-Crestwood conversations between Solas and some of the other companions. This one is with Varric, who I LOVED writing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Varric didn’t usually mind a quiet journey. It gave him plenty of time to write dialogue in his head, changing one or two words until they were perfect and then repeating them over and over again so he wouldn’t forget before he had a chance to stop and write them down. But Solas had barely spoken at all since they’d left Skyhold two days ago, and Varric couldn’t help but wonder if he’d suddenly gotten tired of the sound of his own voice.</p><p>Seemed unlikely.</p><p>Once they’d built the tents and had the campfire going, Varric decided, against his better judgment, to break the silence.</p><p>“So, Chuckles.”</p><p>Solas merely hummed in return and didn’t look up from the book he was reading. </p><p>“I can’t help but notice that you and our fair Inquisitor haven’t been spending so much time together lately.”</p><p>“You ‘can’t help’ but notice?” Solas said, still staring at the book.</p><p>“Look, I like to write in the main hall. All that noise helps me focus. And, yeah, I can’t help but notice that I don’t see the Inquisitor visiting the rotunda as often as she used to. And I don’t see you heading off to her quarters once you think everyone’s gone to bed anymore either.”</p><p>That did the trick. Solas looked up at him.</p><p>“You’re very observant, Master Tethras.”</p><p>“It’s a curse.”</p><p>“I would think it a blessing for one with your profession.”</p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” Varric agreed. “At least until everyone you know catches on and starts acting all out-of-character. Then you’ve got to go back to relying on your own imagination.”</p><p>Solas hummed again and turned back to his reading.</p><p>“I’m just saying. The two of you seemed pretty happy from where I was sitting.” </p><p>Solas turned a page with a deliberate flick of his finger. </p><p>“Listen, Chuckles,” Varric continued, seeing that he was going to need to poke the wound a bit. “I know it’s none of my business but if you somehow managed to piss her off-”  </p><p>Solas snapped the book shut. “You are right that it is none of your business. And I do not require your assistance in reconciling with-”</p><p>He stopped mid-sentence, no doubt realizing he had admitted to the need for a reconciliation - which, obviously, admitted a handful of other things at the same time.</p><p>Varric gave Solas a small smile. He was working <em> very hard </em> not to let it turn into a smirk.</p><p>“You’re almost there, Chuckles. Keep going. Tell old Varric your troubles.” </p><p>“If I needed a shoulder to cry on, I assure you I wouldn’t choose yours,” Solas replied icily. </p><p>Varric was used to a certain degree of hostility from Solas. And, really, <em> hostility </em> wasn’t even the right word for it. <em> Condescension</em>, for sure. <em> Grumpiness</em>, definitely. But this elf wasn’t exactly broody, and usually Varric could poke fun at him without worrying that he might actually do any lasting damage. </p><p>“Well I’m sorry to hear that, Chuckles,” he said genuinely. “Still, if you want to talk, I’m here.”  </p><p>For a moment, Varric thought Solas would go back to his book. But then Varric watched him clench his jaw and narrow his eyes, and realized that Solas had more to say.</p><p>“The problem is, Master Tethras, that you talk. Or worse, you write. And I suspect the last thing the Inquisitor wants is to have the details of her private life revealed to every gossiping diplomat in Skyhold. I thought you of all people could understand the desire for discretion in one’s romantic encounters, unless I have somehow misunderstood the complexities of your relationship with Bianca Davri.” </p><p>“Oh-ho, getting testy are we?” Varric laughed. “Guess I must have hit a nerve. Listen, I just thought I should offer because, well, you don’t usually talk about yourself all that much to anyone besides Her Inquisitorialness. And maybe Cole, but I don’t think it’s a great idea to burden the kid with something like this.”</p><p>“I have not discussed this with Cole. But empathy is never a burden to Compassion, though of course you wouldn’t understand this because of how you’ve chosen to see him.” </p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Varric asked, more than a little offended. “Cole chooses to look like a human so I treat him like a human - er, better than most humans, really.” </p><p>“However you may see him, Cole is still a spirit. I have told you before we cannot change our nature by wishing,” Solas replied, his tone distant and final. </p><p>Varric wasn’t ready to be so easily dismissed.</p><p>“Yeah, and when you said that before I thought, ‘spoken like someone who hasn’t experienced a whole lot of change.’ I just didn’t say it at the time because I didn’t want to be an asshole in front of the kid. I mean, not to be too pithy about it, but doesn’t change always start with a wish for things to be different?”</p><p>Solas fell silent at this, merely staring at Varric across the campfire. It went on for too long and Solas’ eyes were doing that creepy elf-in-the-darkness thing where the light reflected in them in weird ways. Varric began polishing his crossbow so he’d have something else to look at.</p><p>“And what if that’s all we have - a wish?” </p><p>Varric shrugged, keeping his eyes on Bianca. “I’d say it's a lot better than having nothing. I’d say it’s a good start.”</p><p>Solas sighed. “I fear I cannot share your optimism.”</p><p>“No,” Varric agreed. “That’d be pretty out-of-character.” </p><p>A few minutes passed before Varric heard pages turning again.</p><p>“I apologize for my rudeness,” Solas said quietly. “I realize you were only trying to help, in your way.”</p><p>“No harm done,” Varric replied. “Sorry for poking you about it. If you ever want to talk, the offer stands.” </p><p>“If I am ever feeling optimistic, perhaps I will take you up on it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I failed.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: G</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWitchoftheWilds">@WickedWitchoftheWilds</a>: "I failed" and dark battlefield</p><p>Solavellan in the Exalted Plains</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solas looks out across the scorched and bloodstained ground down the hill from the ramparts. The sun has set but he can still make out the golden grasses in the distance that give the Exalted Plains their human name. There remains no grass beneath his feet. The Orlesian war and the restless dead have trampled it to nothing. All that is left is mud, ash, and the smell of death in the air. </p><p>But Solas knows this is not the first time this place has been a battlefield.</p><p>He thinks of the people who called this place <em> Dirthavaren </em> - “the promise” - hundreds of years after Arlathan fell. He has seen, in dreams and in the ruins of this place, the life they made for themselves. It was no Elvhenan; it couldn’t be. But it was a first attempt at a new home, and one which stood proudly - at least until the Chantry decided to take it from those who had built it.</p><p>This, too, Solas has seen. Each night the Inquisition spends here, he retreats to the Fade to watch with numb horror as the elven forces are crushed again and again. He sees them fight with only a limited talent for magic, relying instead on strength and steel to stand against the might of the human forces. He reminds himself - though there is no need to do so - that the elves who fought here were weakened tremendously because he severed their connection to the Fade. He stole from them the thing that most defined and protected them. </p><p>Every life that was lost here has seeped into the soil. The Veil is terribly thin, and Solas wonders if he tempts fate by holding the echoes of these deaths so close. Will a spirit be compelled to pass through, carrying the memories of an elf who spent their last moments bleeding on the ground, tall grasses surrounding them, the summer sun warming their broken body as they begged for their final rest? Would such a spirit confront him? Would it recognize him for who and what he is? Would it speak accusingly, shaped by Vengeance or Despair? </p><p>Solas wishes, not for the first time, that there was anyone left who could hold him to account for what he has done. He thought he would free his people and instead he forged the first link in their chains.</p><p>“I failed,” he whispers.</p><p>“You have?” </p><p>His heart leaps to his throat. Lavellan’s hand slips into his and he feels the press of her shoulder against his arm.</p><p>“At what?” she asks quietly.</p><p>Solas cannot bring himself to turn to her. He knows the truth will be written on his face. He is desperately unprepared for this, and there is no convenient lie that can come easily to mind. His heart pounds in his ears as the silence stretches. </p><p>
  <em> I have failed your people. I was the first cause of all their destruction. I have failed you, and you will never know how completely. You cannot imagine the beauty of the things you will never see and the depths of the knowledge that has been lost. </em>
</p><p>Lavellan drops his hand and he can feel her uncertainty. But when she turns to leave he reaches out to her, pulls her to him, holds her fast. She is tense at first but, after a moment, she relaxes into him and leans her head on his chest.</p><p>“What-”</p><p>“It is merely this place,” Solas interrupts her, having finally found a lie that is not a lie. “The thinness of the Veil and the restlessness of the spirits are wearying for me.”</p><p>“Do you want to go back to Skyhold?” Lavellan asks, looking up at him. He has, thankfully, finally summoned the energy to keep a neutral expression. “One of the patrols is leaving in the morning. You could go with them, if you wish.”</p><p>“My place is here,” he says. <em> With you</em>, he thinks.</p><p>Lavellan shakes her head in reply. “We’ve already looked into all the ruins Keeper Hawen mentioned. If we find anything else, I can handle the translations, or bring them back for you.”</p><p>“You have no more use of me?” Solas smiles with a levity he doesn’t feel. But he can see the concern in Lavellan’s eyes and knows she will pull more truth from him if he does not divert her.</p><p>“You know that’s not it.” </p><p>Her gaze is thoughtful and serious, unwilling to match the lightness of his tone. When Solas allows the silence to stretch on too long again, Lavellan withdraws from his arms and steps away from him.</p><p>“I’ll be awake for a while - if you want to talk,” she says as she retreats toward the Inquisition's camp.</p><p>Solas watches her go and he knows that he will fail her again. But still he turns, and follows in her footsteps, and wonders whether he would know victory if he tasted it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I’ve never seen anything more inspiring.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: G</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry">@ContreParry</a>: “I’ve never seen anything more inspiring” and Library</p><p>New relationship Solavellan in Skyhold</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Solas?” </p><p>“Inquisitor,” Solas says, looking up from his desk in the rotunda to give a polite nod of acknowledgement before casting his eyes down again. </p><p>It has been a week since their encounter in the Fade. He hasn’t been <em> avoiding </em> her, exactly. That would be quite impossible since a rockslide has blocked the road to Redcliffe. The Commander’s forces are working to clear it, which has left everyone cooped up together in Skyhold until the work is complete. Solas has simply used the additional time efficiently, reading and rereading several books on loan from the university in Orlais. </p><p>He’d told her he needed time to think, but Solas has spent the week thinking about anything other than the way her fingers felt against his cheek, or how he had been unable to resist pulling her in for another kiss.</p><p>The Inquisitor clears her throat. Solas looks up again to find her tapping a finger on the edge of his desk - whether in irritation or anxiety he isn’t certain. </p><p>“I apologize, Inquisitor. Was there something you needed from me?” </p><p>“I was hoping I might borrow you for a moment, if you’re not too busy,” she says. </p><p>“Of course.” He gestures for her to lead the way.</p><p>A few minutes later they reach their destination. It is a small room, not far from the kitchens, which until recently was filled with nothing but dust and cobwebs. But when Solas enters he finds it well-lit, clean, and sees that a large desk and comfortable chair have been carried down from elsewhere in the fortress. The shelves that run from floor to ceiling have been filled with dozens of books.</p><p>“I thought, now that Dorian has joined us and is using the bookshelves in the rotunda for the items he brought with him, that perhaps you would like some additional space to store your own books,” Lavellan explains. “I noticed your desk - and the sofa, and really the entire floor - were becoming somewhat cluttered. So I had everything moved down here.” </p><p>At first Solas worries that this is a complaint, but her voice is quiet and her eyes are focused entirely on him in a way that seems to request approval. It is a look she would not have given him a week ago. It is a look filled with entirely too much vulnerability for someone in her position.</p><p>It would be simpler, perhaps kinder, to shatter things now. If he feigns disappointment, or even disinterest, Solas knows he will see Lavellan’s face slip back to the hard mask of the Inquisitor. But, though he knows better, he does not want her to stop looking at him the way she is now.</p><p>“I have never seen anything more inspiring,” he tells her.</p><p>Lavellan glances at him sideways, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>“Inspiring?” she repeats. “Are you - is that a joke?”</p><p>Solas hears the confusion and hesitation in her tone and realizes that, somehow, even when he tries to say the <em> right </em> thing, he has managed to say the <em> wrong </em> thing instead. And then, his hands are on her shoulders and trailing down her arms before he can think better of it.</p><p>“No. No it is not a joke,” he tells her as he takes each of her hands in his. “Perhaps I chose my words poorly-”</p><p>“No,” she says, and Solas feels her hands tighten on his own. “No, I’m sorry. I just -” </p><p>She looks down at her feet for a long moment before she speaks again.</p><p>“We haven’t spoken in a while. I’m sorry if this is a little awkward.”</p><p>And then, fool that he is, Solas pulls her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. His mind screams objections and consequences but he forces them away until the entire world is reduced to nothing more than the warmth of her body against his.</p><p>“I meant only that it is inspiring to see the transformation you affect, even to a dreary place like this one,” Solas says quietly. “You have changed Skyhold for the better in ways I did not anticipate. To be the focus of such a change is a kindness I did not expect. </p><p>“But perhaps I should have started with ‘thank you’ instead,” he adds.</p><p>Lavellan chuckles and Solas breathes again. It is a dangerous line he walks but one he cannot tear himself away from. Even a small misunderstanding leaves him rushing to find ways to bring the smile back to her face.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she says, and pulls back to look up at him. “I hope you won’t mind - I looked through the list of titles you’d requested and added a few suggestions of my own. That’s why there are quite a few more books here than you had up in the rotunda.” </p><p><em> Mind? </em> he thinks. <em> I could kiss you. </em></p><p>So he does, first her brow and then her cheek and then her lips. And he wishes she can find a way to make him new.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. I’ll do anything. You know that.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: T</p>
<p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/">@manka</a>: 15F! 15. “I’ll do anything. You know that.” + Footprints</p>
<p>Relationship Solavellan fluff in Skyhold</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lavellan knelt to inspect the path of wet footprints that began just inside the door that led from the Throne Room to her quarters. They were rather large, and the owner of them had apparently not been wearing boots, which made her confident that she had correctly guessed who would be awaiting her at the top of the stairs. What remained unclear, however, was why anyone had been allowed into her quarters without her permission, and also why the guard at her door had failed to warn her that she had a visitor. But, she supposed, all would be revealed soon enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened the door to her bedroom to find Solas sitting on the rug in front of her fireplace. His footwraps lay discarded beside him, and he stretched his feet toward the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Decided to make yourself at home, I see.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” Solas answered without turning from the fire, “but there is a leak in the roof just outside the door to your quarters. I stood there for quite some time, as I was uncertain when your meeting with the commander would conclude. But, in the end, my feet were unbearably cold and I decided it would be much more comfortable up here. Not to mention the improved view.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solas waved a hand toward the balcony doors, beyond which impressive thunderclouds had blocked out the moonlight. The storm was close enough that the lightning illuminated the whole room when it flashed, and Lavellan could feel the faint vibrations of the thunder even within Skyhold’s sturdy walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And my guard just let you in?” she asked, trying to recall the name of the recruit she’d passed a few moments before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was somewhat more complicated than that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solas stood and moved to the sofa, catching her hand in his as he crossed the room. Lavellan followed and took a seat beside him, suddenly aware of how rosy his cheeks were. He was lighter and calmer than she usually saw him, and the effect was both disarming and infectious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Recruit Bailey has his heart set on one of the young men who works in the stables, though he hasn’t quite managed to tell him yet. I brought him some wine from the kitchens - which we shared - and then I helped him pen a note with some of his thoughts. I think it turned out quite well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lavellan blinked and felt her jaw drop as she attempted to process everything Solas had just told her in a few quick sentences, delivered as nonchalantly as if he had given a weather report.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, are you telling me that my guards are bribable?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” Solas said. “Recruit Bailey’s price was far too specific to be guessed by any passing Qunari assassins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, funny,” she said, in what was meant to sound like a reprimand, if only she could have kept a straight face. “How do you know all of that about him, anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solas tilted his head quizzically. “It is my responsibility to know such things. I imagine any of your advisors would say the same. We need to be certain of the loyalties of those who are tasked with keeping you safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled and moved closer to him on the sofa, leaning against his chest as she tucked her feet beneath her. Solas wrapped an arm around her shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well if bribery is on the table, perhaps I should start to charge a toll to enter my quarters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what would you charge?” Solas asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A good question,” she said. “But one I’ll have to give a little more consideration before I answer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do anything. You know that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath brushed against her ear as he spoke, his tone low and all too inviting. She felt a swift rush of heat rising to her cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything?” she asked, when she could keep her voice steady again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Name your price.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What a terrible amount of pressure,” Lavellan said, doing her best to ignore that Solas had loosed her braid and was now gently running his fingers through her hair. “It’s like when Josephine asks me what we should serve at one of these diplomatic dinners. I can’t possibly make a choice without seeing a menu of my options.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose that’s reasonable,” Solas agreed, as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “In that case, shall we begin with the hors d’eouvres?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I’m glad you trust me.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: T</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry">@ContreParry</a>: “I’m glad you trust me.” and "Golden"</p><p>Relationship Solavellan in Halamshiral, dealing with some very annoying golden buttons on some very ugly red formal coats.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dammit!” Lavellan swore as her fingernails scraped across the oversized golden buttons. “Why are these <em> so </em>ridiculously tight?”</p><p>“It’s almost as if the outfit had never been worn before this evening,” Solas said from where he lay on the bed beneath her. He had never before seen her so frustrated, and as inconvenient as the situation was, it was proving difficult not to be at least somewhat amused by her struggling. </p><p>“Yes, almost like that,” she grumbled. </p><p>Once again, she attempted to bend the stiff fabric of his formal coat at an angle that would allow the button to pass through the hole. And, once again, the coat bent only slightly and Lavellan’s grip faltered. She let out an enraged grunt and bore down on him again - an action which was becoming increasingly challenging for Solas each time she did it, as she was sitting astride his hips. </p><p>“Do you need assistance, Lady Inquisitor?” </p><p>“I certainly do not, and call me ‘Lady Inquisitor’ again, Solas, and I will button you back up to your throat in this thing,” she said, grabbing the high neck of the coat to demonstrate. “How did they get these on us in the first place? I swear the holes aren’t even large enough for the button to pass through.”</p><p>“I believe a button hook was used,” Solas explained.</p><p>Lavellan was not paying attention. “What are these coats even made of?” she said to his chest, her nose just an inch away from the button she now battled. “I would rather have worn a mask all night!”</p><p>“Masks are much easier to remove,” Solas agreed, wincing as Lavellan attempted a new strategy of pulling the two sides of the coat closer together. “Are you certain you don’t want my help, <em>vhenan?”</em></p><p>Slowly, she tilted her head upward. She hovered just above his waistline, her fingers still tightly gripping the fabric of his coat. She narrowed her eyes as they met his, and her lips pursed into a scowl. Though her expression was all exasperation, the undisguised urgency of it made his pulse quicken.</p><p>“<em>Ir abelas</em>,” Solas said, though his breath caught in his throat. “I should not have asked.”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>Lavellan fidgeted for what felt like an eternity, communicating only in a series of small, irritated huffs that told him she had failed, yet again, to undo this final, traitorous button. Finally, she threw up her hands in defeat and sat up, her backside resting on the top of his thighs. </p><p>“I have an idea,” she said.</p><p>Solas had nearly moved his hands to her hips - since he had a variety of ideas of his own - but  halted when felt the familiar prickling sensation at the back of his neck that accompanied energy summoned from the Fade. </p><p>“What are you-”</p><p>“I’m glad you trust me,” she said, and passed a glowing hand over his torso. </p><p>At first, nothing seemed to have changed. He thought perhaps it was a trick of the dim candlelight in the room when the golden button shined a bit brighter. But then, Solas watched with a combination of understanding and growing horror as it began to liquify and lose its shape.</p><p>“Oh shit! Take it off! <em> Take it off!” </em> Lavellan yelled. </p><p>A moment later, the coat lay discarded on the floor. Solas, and then Lavellan - at her insistence - had inspected his stomach and found no injury. The thick fabric had apparently been his saving grace, having prevented the molten gold from burning through quickly enough to reach his skin.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she said, leaning back against the gilded headboard. “That was a stupid thing to try, no matter how - um - dire the situation seemed at the time.”</p><p>“There was no harm done,” Solas assured her as he sat beside her on the bed. “Though it is good to know the lengths you will go to in such dire situations.” </p><p>She rolled her eyes in reply.</p><p>“Shall we attempt your coat now?” he asked, moving his hands to the clasp at her top of her neck. “I do not think I will need assistance -” </p><p>He stared down in surprise as his fingers glanced off the gold as easily as Lavellan’s had. </p><p>“The assistance of -” </p><p>He grunted, as the button remained firmly stuck within its hole. </p><p>Solas looked up to find Lavellan grinning in triumph.</p><p>“Are you sure you don’t need some help, <em>vhenan?” </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. I hate it out here.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: G</p>
<p>Anonymous prompt: Busy training grounds + 25. “I hate it out here.”</p>
<p> Pre-relationship Solavellan in Haven.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Lavellan stood with her back against the wall that encircled Haven. The stone was freezing. She could feel it even through her armor. The wind bit at her cheeks and numbed her ears. Even in her bed at night, no matter how many furs she piled atop herself or how high she stoked her fire before she slept, she could never quite banish the chill from her bones.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She hated cold like this - cold that seeped, ghostlike, beneath the door and settled in a room. Winters in the Free Marches were mild, with more rain than anything else. In Haven, she had yet to see a day without snow on the ground. It had been a novelty to her at first. But as the days dragged on she quickly learned that snow was only beautiful when it was falling.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It wasn’t falling now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The so-called Herald of Andraste was out in the cold because it had been suggested that she might take a bit more interest in the training of the Inquisition’s soldiers. This was something that she had no use for, but she understood well enough that humans’ “suggestions” were rarely voluntary. So she watched, shivering, as boots trampled the greying snow. She winced each time steel clanged violently against steel, and when officers barked orders at their recruits.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I hate it out here,” Lavellan let herself whisper aloud.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Too cold for your liking?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She hadn’t heard Solas approach over the din of the sparring recruits.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not only that,” she said, casting her eyes toward the training grounds.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ah.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They stood without speaking for a moment, though there was no silence to be found. The screaming of the wind and clash of sword against shield echoed off the stone wall and the mountains in the distance.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The Dalish do not train like this?” Solas asked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My clan trained hunters, not soldiers. Our weapons were quiet - made for stalking prey in the woods, not slaughtering enemies on a battlefield.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lavellan winced as the Commander roared at a recruit who had failed to block in time and left himself wide open for an attack.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Before the Conclave, I’d never seen this many humans in one place,” she confessed. “And, until now, I had never seen this many humans wielding weapons - well, ever.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Solas eyed her curiously, and she turned to stare at the snow beneath her feet, finding she couldn’t hold his gaze.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She hadn’t meant to say so much. When she first saw Solas, she had hoped he would be a true ally - as opposed to the ever-expanding crowd of humans who were quick to assure her they were her allies, even as they whispered their suspicions behind her back. But Solas had made his opinions of the monolith he referred to as “the Dalish” known so quickly and so vehemently that he had easily disabused her of any hope that he might be someone she could trust.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You are terrified of them.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lavellan whipped her head up, ready to defend herself. But Solas’ expression was neutral, seeking understanding. It had been neither a criticism nor a taunt. She swallowed the anger that had risen to her throat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“‘Terrified’ is the wrong word,” she said. “I am cautious of them. Prepared for them. Ready for the moment that I’m no longer useful and they turn on me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“A wise stance to assume," Solas nodded. “But if I may suggest an alternative?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She frowned, both at the question and at the swirl of snowflakes that had suddenly descended upon them. She pulled her hood up over her head before she replied.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Go on.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You spoke of your clan’s hunters stalking their prey. And you describe yourself as cautious - more the prey than the hunter in the hierarchy of this fledgling Inquisition, yes?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lavellan didn’t care for the metaphor, but she couldn’t argue that it was correct. She gave Solas a brusque nod in reply.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Have you considered baring your teeth a little? After all, you are no mere rabbit about to be crushed in a wolf’s jaws. You have a power of your own.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You mean this,” she said, holding up her marked hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” Solas said. “Not the mark. You have a hold over them. And you have a will of your own. I believe it would be a mistake to allow overcautiousness to diminish these things.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She scoffed and shook her head. “If I ‘bare my teeth,’ as you put it, they’ll turn on me even faster.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“They won’t. They need you. Because beneath their suspicions and their demands, they face a truth that you do not. They <em>are</em> terrified of you. You would do well to remember that - and force them to remember it as well.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It seemed to her strange advice to receive from Solas, who had yet been slow to offer his opinions on anything other than the Fade, the Dalish, and the Breach. But her clan had a saying about not being too proud to find wisdom in unexpected places, and she supposed that a lonely-eyed wanderer with backwards notions about her people certainly counted as such.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They stood side by side, watching the training grounds, until the snowfall became too heavy for the soldiers to continue. The recruits dispersed, bowing their heads to their Herald as they passed by her on their way to warm themselves in the inn. Then, for a moment, the valley was peaceful and silent, enveloped in falling snow.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you,” Lavellan said, and - somewhat to her own surprise - meant it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You are most welcome,” Solas replied.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Come back with me.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: M</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude">@midnightprelude</a>: 4. “Come back with me.” Nighttime + fight for Solavellan?</p><p>Relationship Solavellan in Skyhold</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had lingered late in the Rotunda, working with maps and texts spread across Solas’ desk as he and the Inquisitor tried to determine the location of a temple buried long ago. The later they stayed, the more people retired for the night and the more precarious his situation became. Their hands would touch. Their lips would meet. And, inevitably, Solas would be forced to make a choice.</p><p>“Come back with me.” </p><p>He had refused her once before. In truth, Solas had not expected her to ask again, and had no excuse prepared. He hid his oversight beneath an agonizing silence as he hurriedly scribbled one final, unnecessary note on the map they’d been using.</p><p>“I cannot,” he said, finally.</p><p>He thought, from her silence, that perhaps that would be it. But then she spoke again.</p><p>“Do you not want to?” Lavellan asked gently. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Of course I want to,” Solas answered before he could stop himself.</p><p>“Then, why?” she asked, entirely reasonably.</p><p>“The Orlesian delegation we are hosting never retire before dawn,” he said, offering the excuse he’d only just concocted. “They will see us if we enter your quarters together, and such a scandal would do you no credit in their eyes. An elf in a position of power is detestable to Orlais, and yet Ambassador Montilyet has convinced them to overlook it. Were an elven advisor appear to be too close to you, I doubt even she could preserve their support.”</p><p>“And who says we need to go to my quarters?” Lavellan asked, leaning back against his desk.</p><p>The invitation was more appealing than she could know. But still, he shook his head.</p><p>“It is too much of a risk. For all the reasons I’ve already stated.”</p><p>“You know Skyhold better than I do - better than any of us,” she countered. “You must be able to think of a dozen places where we could find some privacy.”</p><p>And, <em> fenedhis</em>, but he could. </p><p>There was an alcove at the tip of the rotunda, deserted at this time of night, when even the Spymaster had finally retired for the few hours she allowed herself to leave her desk each day. Then there was the room below the kitchens, warmed by its hearth and yet far too secluded to attract attention after dark. The loft of the stables, if the Warden could be distracted to a game of Wicked Grace in the tavern. Any of the three currently unoccupied rooms in the guest quarters where foreign dignitaries slept. Pressed against a wall beneath the stairs at the edge of the gardens, he considered with agonizing clarity.</p><p>And if - if only - he could shape this place with a thought the way he used to, Solas would sculpt a room just for her. Hidden behind a stone wall that would give way only for them, he would carve a balcony that overlooked the frozen lake and seal it with a spell to keep the cold at bay while allowing the snow to swirl into the room for a brief moment of fragile beauty before it melted away. The hearth would be ornate and enormous, large enough to hold a fire that would warm them all night long, even after it crumbled to embers. He would build the fire himself, with his own hands, choosing the branches from the nearby woods and finding the herbs to scent it.</p><p>He would craft her a bed made from the twisting branches of the white-barked trees that grew only in Arlathan Forest, and weave them into an intricate knot that conjured protection and devotion with each twist. The bedclothes would be Fade-touched silk - the only material that could come close to matching the softness of her lips. Time would pass slowly, if at all. He would steal each minute that he could and savor her touch, her taste, her voice. He would forget himself in the press of her body against his, and hide from the duty that lurked just beyond the door, threatening to drag him back out into the cold.</p><p>Solas had built such a place in his mind a hundred - a thousand - times. So he did, again. But this was not a world that could be shaped to his whims. And so he dismissed it, again. He chased the thought of it away, because he knew what must come first.</p><p>He could not ask such a thing of her without first telling her the truth. And he could not tell her the truth.</p><p>Candles and moonlight lied. Desire lied, most of all. It tempted one to believe that it alone was enough. </p><p>Solas knew that if he viewed the situation in the harsh light of day, his choice was really no choice at all.</p><p>He had been silent too long. Lavellan stared at him with eyes that saw too much.</p><p>“It is impossible,” Solas said.</p><p>“Only because you’ve decided it’s so.”</p><p>Her rebuke was not gentle, and he could offer no response that could adequately counter it. So he said nothing.</p><p>She shook her head at him and let out an angry breath. She was halfway to the door when Solas caught up to her, his hand tight upon her elbow.</p><p>He kissed her once for every five steps they took, darting from shadow to shadow as they made their way clumsily to the deserted guest quarters above the gardens. And when he laid her down upon the bed and drank in the sight of her, Solas began to understand that there was really no choice at all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. I promise I'll come back.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rating: T</p><p>Prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields">@Viscariafields</a>: "I promise I'll come back" + Mud</p><p>Relationship? Or just pre-relationship? Solavellan &amp; some Iron Bull for fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bull froze when he heard the noise coming from somewhere in the brush ahead, not more than a few dozen paces away. He slowly pushed aside one branch, then another, as he silently made his way forward.</p><p>“Try lifting your left foot again?”</p><p>“We’ve already tried that. It still won’t budge.”</p><p>“Put your hand here, to brace yourself, then maybe—”</p><p>“Boss?” Bull asked tentatively, uncertain what exactly he had interrupted.</p><p>Inquisitor Lavellan and Solas stood knee-deep in mud, facing one another. They were standing <em> quite </em> close. From Bull’s vantage point, he could see that their legs were interlocked, and Lavellan had a hand on Solas’ chest to … keep her balance, maybe? Solas had wrapped an arm low around her waist, which could possibly be for the same reason - or maybe for a very different one.</p><p>“Bull?” Lavellan’s upper body whipped toward him, though the bottom half of her stayed very rigidly in place. </p><p>“Everything alright?”</p><p>“We’re stuck,” she said miserably. The dark mud beneath their feet let out an awful squelch, as if to confirm her words.</p><p>“I can see that,” Bull replied. “Not totally clear on <em> how </em> it happened, though. You guys just walk right in there?” </p><p>“The mud appeared more passable, and far shallower, from a distance,” Solas explained. “It seems to have constricted when we put weight on it. I have attempted a variety of magical solutions, but so far nothing has been successful.” </p><p>“Magically-resistant quicksand. Got it,” Bull said. “And the two of you came out this way because …?” </p><p>“I just wanted to get some fresh air—” the Inquisitor began. </p><p>“We were discussing tomorrow’s—” Solas said at the same time.</p><p>They looked at each other.</p><p>“I saw the Inquisitor leave camp—”</p><p>“That is, I went out to find Solas—”</p><p>“Right,” Bull said, after letting their silence hang for a second longer. “I think I’ve got the finer points. You two hold tight. I promise I'll come back.”</p><p>“Come back?” Solas said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Bull nodded as he turned to go. </p><p>“But where are you going?” the Inquisitor asked.</p><p>“Back to camp,” he called over his shoulder. “I just need to grab a couple of Harding’s guys back and maybe see if they have some shovels lying around somewhere. Don’t worry, I’ll bring a whole crew back with me.”</p><p>He tried to keep a straight face, at least until he turned away from them again.</p><p>Sometimes Bull wondered who got stuck reading the reports he sent back to Par Vollen. He tried to keep them as boring as possible, for everybody’s sake. This time, he thought, he might have to give it a little <em>spice</em>. Maybe he’d ask Varric for some help.</p>
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